


.:Fighting Chance:. (Jaime Lannister x Reader)

by KiaraKohana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon Divergence, F/M, Joffrey Baratheon Being an Asshole, Matchmaker Tyrion Lannister, Minor Character Death, Sexual Tension, Sparring, Sword wielding reader, Teasing, cersei being cersei, slight blood and gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:35:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23989735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraKohana/pseuds/KiaraKohana
Summary: With his right hand gone, Jaime doesn't believe there's any way for him to regain his skill with the sword; his position in the Kingsguard is as good as finished. Luckily, Tyrion thinks he knows just the person to whip him back into shape- you.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Reader, Jaime Lannister/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 51





	1. .:Quarrel:.

You sighed softly as you swirled your second glass of wine around in your goblet, glancing around at the company you'd found yourself in. Today was but one of the many parties the royal family had planned in the weeks leading up to King Joffrey's wedding to Lady Margaery. 

At the moment you were sitting at one of the lavishly decorated tables with a group of soldiers. You were much too sober by your standards but having a fun enough time. You idly sipped at your wine and threw the occasional word in the conversation, but events like this were dull to you. Everyone around you seemed to put on such a heavy act it made you sick. You were hoping someone would come along that didn't feel so. . . hollow.

As you felt the space shift beside you, you turned to see an older man approach and sit in the empty chair next to yours- very loud and _very_ drunk.

“Now what's a pretty little thing like you doing with a group of mutts?” he slurred, shooting you a shit-eating grin. 

Your eyes narrowed as the man slung an arm over your shoulders, his alcohol ridden breath fanning over your face and making you cringe.

“Hands off,” you said, your eyes narrowing. 

The man only laughed and slid his hand down to your thigh.

“Well aren't you a feisty one? I wonder if you're the same way in the sack. Maybe I should fuck you over this table and find out-”

“Maybe you should move your fingers before you lose them,” you said, your tone deathly calm. Your words made the man recoil in shock which quickly turned into offense. 

“I beg your pardon? I am a knight of the Kingsguard,” he said incredulously. 

You forced your grimace into a sickeningly sweet smile as you turned to face him.

“Well then, with all due respect, _Ser_ , kindly fuck off,” you said as you took another sip of your wine. 

The soldiers around you chuckled in amusement at your crass language. 

“You're going to let this little cunt push you around like that?” one of them goaded.

You didn't even take the time to acknowledge his comment but shot him a nasty glare as you cut away at the venison on your plate. 

“No. Looks like the bitch needs to be put in her place,” the man scowled, reaching for you.

His hand didn't get much farther than the edge of his plate before you grabbed it and twisted hard, pressing the blade of your dinner knife against the flesh of his wrist. 

Several of the soldiers stood immediately and drew their swords.

“Now now, what's going on here?”

You exhaled sharply through your nose as you reluctantly released your grip on the man, turning to face the unmistakable source of the voice: Joffrey Baratheon.

“A simple spat, Your Grace,” you said, putting on a smile, “Think nothing of it.”

“This crazy bitch tried to kill me!” the drunk man exclaimed.

“Well he did grab me,” you retaliated, unable to hold your tongue, “And threatened me with disgusting perverse acts. In response, I suggested he move his hand-”

“And nearly slit my wrist while doing so,” the man glared as he finished. 

“Completely warranted if you ask me,” you said under your breath.

You heard a faint chuckle from the high table and shifted your gaze to the man behind the King. He wore the golden armor and cloak of the Kingsguard, his hair matching the hue of the metal. He was handsome, that was for certain, but he seemed. . . maybe tired wasn't the right word, but maybe it was. The man looked exhausted. The hollows of his cheeks seemed sunken into the chiseled features of his face, a sort of emptiness in his dark green eyes. And yet there he was, in his golden garb before the royal family, his facade just a little less prominent than everyone else's. Something told you there was more to him. 

Meanwhile, the King looked between you and the drunk man with a sadistic glint in his eyes which settled on your form.

“Well then, it appears we have to resolve this issue somehow,” he said, “I thought this party was getting a bit dull, and I was right.”

The smile on his face was enough to send chills up your spine. It was cold and didn't quite reach his eyes, full of malicious intent. 

“You claim she attacked you and yet she claims you tried to defile her,” he said, pointing to the man and then you respectively.

The smirk on Joffrey's face turned into something wicked as he spoke his next words:

“A duel should put this to rest, should it not?”

An excited murmur spread through the crowd, the prospect of barbaric entertainment drawing their attention. Of course the King had no real intentions of settling this dispute. In truth, most women in Westeros were forced to endure far worse than you just had without anyone saying a word. The only reason he intervened at all was for his own sick pleasure.

“Will you choose a champion, Ser?” Joffrey asked the man beside you. 

“I have no need” he said smugly, “I can fight my own battles, I'm not a woman.”

Hearty laughs and leers were heard in the crowd as he said that, unsheathing his sword and brandishing it drunkenly. 

“Let's have at it!” he shouted to the sky. 

Joffrey's smirk only widened as he turned to you.

“And you,” he said, clearly pleased with himself, “Since you are so bold and brave to speak out against this man, why don't you fight as your own champion?”

Laughter erupted throughout the crowd of men around you at the King's joke and your gaze darkened.

“Very well.”

The hall seemed to go silent at your words but you trudged onwards.

“I will fight for myself,” you stated confidently. 

Where there had been excitement before, there was now an air of nervousness. The man behind the King stared at you intently in something akin to disbelief but not without intrigue.

“Is she serious? She's just a woman,” you heard someone whisper.

“It was a joke, lass,” one of the soldiers called to you, “No need to get your pretty little dress dirty.”

“Don't be stupid, girl!” another shouted, “You'll get yourself killed!”

You saw the golden-haired man put a hand on the King's shoulder, a stern, warning look on his face.

“Your Grace-”

“Silence!” Joffrey seethed, slapping his hand away and successfully killing the chatter in the room, “If the girl wants her fight so badly, then so be it.” That twisted smile reappeared on his face as he acknowledged you directly, “Although I assume she'll need to arm herself first.”

A few obligated chuckles followed his statement which you quickly silenced.

“That won't be necessary, Your Grace,” you said.

You wordlessly knelt down to reach under the table where you were sitting before, gasps audible as you produced your sword in its scabbard. The head of a serpent was molded onto its hit, the intricate carvings in the thin, silver blade catching the light as you unsheathed it. 

“Valyrian steel?” you heard someone say in disbelief.

“Impossible,” Joffrey muttered, “There's only a handful of them left in Westeros.”

“Well I'm not from around here,” you said, downing the rest of your wine in one gulp and taking a step forward. The crowd parted like the red sea as you stepped into the hall's center.

The man only chuckled, twirling his blade in his hand. 

“You must have a death wish, girlie.” 

“What is your name?” you asked, feeling the familiar weight and balance of your sword in your hand. 

“Grag Brask,” he grinned cockily, “Remember it well, woman.”

“Well then, Ser Grag,” you stepped forward, a dangerous smile playing on your lips, “Are you going to stand around all day or are we going to fight?”

Joffrey seemed to recover from his initial shock, composing himself and raising his hand in the air. 

“Let the duel commence!”

Before the King had even finished his sentence Grag charged at you with a great yell, swinging his sword in a wide and predictable arc. He was a fair bit larger than you, but you knew you had the upper hand when it came to agility. You ducked under his blade with ease, promptly kicking him between his shoulder blades. He grunted in pain as he stumbled forward, one hand darting to the ground to keep himself steady as his own weight worked against him.

You wasted no time with an attack of your own, moving to strike him in the side. He narrowly blocked your attack and grunted as he felt himself be thrown even more off his center of balance. You swiftly went in for another blow, this time coming from above. Grag parried before your blade could come down on top of his head and pushed you away, putting some distance between you two. 

You silently relished in his shocked and agitated expression as you twirled your sword around your wrist, looking around at the audience you'd accumulated. If it's a show they wanted, then you'd happily provide. 

Grag let out a growl, sounding much more irritated than his last, as he charged you again. You held your ground until he was less than a meter away before swiftly stepping to the side. However he surprised you by grabbing hold of your sword hand, twisting it in an attempt to disarm you. You delivered a harsh kick to his armored torso but his grip refused to loosen. 

You let out a sharp exhale as you tossed your sword from your right hand to your left, striking him in the side of his armor. Grag's eyes widened in surprise, attempting to block your swing. However he was unused to dueling anyone with a blade in their left hand and found the angle he had to reach awkward. A sharp _clang!_ rang out in the great hall as you delivered another crippling blow to his torso, every strike sending him further and further back. 

Grag made one last feeble attempt at an offensive maneuver, aiming straight for your head. You parried the attack with your left hand easily, your body moving on its own muscle memory. You twisted your blade around his until the momentum pried it from his grasp, his sword skidding across the polished marble floor. 

He didn't have any time to react before you swept his feet from under him. He crumpled into a heap on the floor as you kicked him in the side so he was on his back. You placed your right foot on his windpipe, the point of your blade against his cheek.

“Yield,” you said.

“This isn't over,” he coughed out. 

Your eyes narrowed as you increased the pressure on his neck. He gargled pathetically as you did.

“Oh, I think it is,” you said, “I don't draw blood if it isn't needed, and it seems I didn't have to at all to beat you.” 

Your smirk widened as you leaned in closer to his face.

“Tell me, Ser Grag, have you ever been beaten by an opponent in a dress and corset?” you asked devilishly. 

Joffrey's expression was furious, clearly disappointed that you weren't in pieces on the floor. You shot an innocent smile his way. 

“Won't you call this off, Your Grace?” you asked sweetly, “This has certainly been entertaining but I'd hate to spoil a party with a death, no matter how tempting it may be.”

Joffrey looked like he was going to burst in anger at any moment, but Grag spoke before he could.

“I. . . I yield,” he said bitterly. 

He gasped for air as your foot left his throat.

“Lords and ladies, the victor. . .” Joffrey glanced over to you with clear disdain as he trailed off, waiting for you.

“(Y/n), Your Grace,” you said with a smile.

The audience, once out of shock, erupted in applause. Most of them had never seen a woman fight in their lives, and taking down one of the head knights of the Kingsguard was no easy task.

Jaime watched you from the corner of the room as you curtsied playfully, sheathing your blade and brushing imaginary dirt from your dress. You fascinated him already. Your fighting style was unlike anything he'd seen in Westeros. You struck to disarm, not to kill, though there was no doubt in his mind you were capable of the latter. On top of that, you were proficient wielding a blade with your left hand. . .

He found himself glancing over at you again as you gave your gratitude to those who congratulated you. You weren't the traditional Westerosi lady, that was for sure- your words were crass, your temper hot, and yet your features were soft. Your (e/c) eyes seemed to light up as a little girl stared up at you in awe, jumping up and down as she praised your skills. Wisps of (h/c) hair had come undone from your braid in the fight and you gracefully tucked them behind your ear as you scooped up the child in your arms to ask her name.

“She could be useful,” a voice suddenly jolted Jaime from his thoughts as he looked to the side and then down at his brother. 

“When did you get here?” Jaime sighed, “And what do you mean 'useful'?”

“You saw her fight, she's no ordinary lady,” Tyrion said, “And I know you noticed her skill with her left hand. Given your current circumstances, she's an ideal teacher.”

“I don't need a teacher,” Jaime scoffed, “It's not as if my knowledge of the sword was cut off along with my hand.”

“No, but you certainly ought to learn how to connect that head of yours with your hand, because as we stand you can barely write your own name,” Tyrion countered. 

Jaime grumbled to himself, out of witty remarks in that regard.

And that's how he somehow found himself, the very next week, on a wide plateau above the water, waiting for you to arrive.

Tyrion hadn't exactly given him a choice once he confirmed these sessions with you, and the small bit of anxiety creeping up in his chest surprised him. He looked down at his left hand, clenching and unclenching it into a fist. Would he really be able to fight again? What if he completely made a fool of himself in front of you? He'd never even talked to you, your first impression was going to be him barely able to wield a blade. 

He exhaled sharply as he took another deep breath in. What if there really was no helping him? He felt his gut twist, feeling conflicted. He felt like the most useless creature in Westeros at the moment, and yet the lingering trace of pride in him didn't want to reach out to anyone for help. He didn't want to be seen as useless as he felt- as everyone else said he was now. 

His head turned towards the docks as he heard footsteps approaching to see you and Tyrion. Instead of the embroidered dress he had seen you in at the party, you wore a simple pair of slacks and a flowy white shirt which you had tied at the waist. Your hair twisted around your head like a crown, the rest braided loosely to the side. Your sword rested against your hip in all its glory, and a burlap bag was slung over your shoulder.

You smiled at Jaime as you came to a stop in front of him and he felt his breath hitch in the back of his throat. Hell if you weren't beautiful. . .

None of this went unnoticed by Tyrion who looked between you two, making a point of clearing his throat before speaking up.

“Jaime, this is Lady (Y/n). Lady (Y/n), this is my brother, Jaime. Hopefully he can learn a thing or two from you.”

Jaime scowled inwardly, turning away slightly from you two.

“You flatter me, My Lord,” you chuckled, “I'm sure I'll have some things to learn from him as well.”

Tyrion nodded to you before turning on his heels and beginning to walk away. 

“Have fun,” he called over his shoulder, “And do try not to kill him, most of our family would like him back alive.” 

You grinned at his remark and turned your attention to Jaime. You had seen him a bit during your duel at the party, but you took a moment to study him more closely. His eyes appeared a brighter green in the afternoon sun, and you could see the faintest splatter of freckles across his tanned skin.

“Something you find interesting?” he asked, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“You're different than I expected,” you replied simply. 

“How so?” he asked, quirking a brow.

“I expected you to be. . . I don't know, taller? More handsome?” you said playfully.

“With two hands?” he chuckled, taking a light jab at himself. 

“Well, truth be told, I didn't know who you were when I saw you at the party,” you admitted, a bit embarrassed, “I only found out when Tyrion approached me afterwards.”

That surprised Jaime for two reasons. One, he hadn't even known that you noticed him at the party, and two, you truly didn't seem to know or care who he was. 

“Like I said, I'm not from around here,” you said, going off his expression. 

“And where would that be?” Jaime questioned. 

“Wouldn't you like to know?” Your smirk widened as you stood in front of him.

“Oh, I would,” he grinned up at you, “Among other things, if you're up to sharing.”

Damn that smile. 

You forced yourself to hold your ground as you spoke.

“How about a deal? Each time you land a hit on me I'll tell you something about myself,” you grinned back. 

“You seem pretty confident that I won't be able to hit you,” Jaime said, feigning offense. 

“On the contrary,” you said, sliding your bag off your shoulder and dumping its contents onto the cobblestone. Two training swords tumbled out making Jaime look up at you.

“You're joking, right?” he scoffed, actually taking offense this time, “I haven't used a training weapon since I was nine.”

“Tell me something, Jaime Lannister,” you began, picking up one of the dulled blades, “Have you even attempted to hold a sword since you lost that hand?” 

That shut him up fairly quickly. 

“No,” he said quietly, begrudgingly picking up the weapon. 

“Let's take it slow,” you said, sensing his unease, “Although, I won't be going easy on you.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Jaime replied, sounding a lot more confident than he felt. Simply holding the weight of the sword upright in his left hand put strain on his wrist he hadn't felt since he was a child. It felt heavier than a sword ever had in his right, the center of its balance precariously placed.

“Defend yourself,” you instructed him, lunging at him with surprising speed. 

Jaime's eyes widened as he stumbled to block your attack, biting his lip as his wrist bent at an awkward angle to do so. You wasted no time going in for another offensive maneuver, sliding your foot in front of you and turning to strike him in his blind spot. Jaime grunted as the practice sword made contact with his ribcage and he fought to ignore the painful sensation. 

When he managed to turn to face you, you had already ducked under his arm, swiftly bringing the hilt of your sword between his shoulder blades and making him fall forward. Even as he knelt at the floor you didn't relent, and a sharp clang of metal rang through the air as he brought up his sword horizontally to block your downward attack. You really weren't kidding about going easy on him.

You backed away, letting him come to his feet but not waiting a moment more than that. You circled him like a predatory animal, observing his stance and body language. When his grip on his sword loosened slightly so he could adjust it, you sprang forward and delivered another harsh blow to his side. Jaime grit his teeth and whirled around, striking at you straight on. You avoided the attack with a simple tilt of your head, seamlessly shifting your weight to deliver a roundhouse to his gut.

Jaime reeled back as the air was knocked out of his lungs and he staggered back on the impact.

“I thought I told you to defend first,” you said, “How are you going to get the opportunity to attack if you can't avoid your opponent's?”

“I know that,” Jaime huffed, irritated, “I'm not a child, I'm the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, I know the basics of swordplay you so desperately want to reteach me.”

You lowered your sword and studied him curiously, an unreadable expression on your face.

“So that's what it is,” you sighed, “I know what you're thinking, 'How can this girl possibly be qualified to teach me? I have years of experience on her and I've managed just fine on my own until now. I've never needed any help. I'm a prodigy. If I had my right hand right now I'd be able to beat her with my eyes closed.' Well let me tell you something, Lannister, you don't have your right hand anymore, and it isn't growing back any time soon.”

You charged him again and he struggled to block you once more.

“You know you need help but you're too proud to ask for it,” you stated confidently, “And more than that, you're giving up.”

“I'm not,” he countered breathlessly. He made a half-arsed attempt to take a swing at you which you easily countered. 

“It seems you already have,” you said, your eyes narrowing. 

“Why are you even here?” he snapped, “If my brother offered you gold to work with a lost cause then I'll pay you triple and you can just leave already.”

That set you off.

In one swift movement you swiped his feet out from under him, grabbing his sword out of his hand as he tumbled backwards. He cursed under his breath and was about to counter with another evasive, witty retort when he froze as you drew your real sword, pressing the blade to his chest. 

“Your brother _did_ offer me gold,” you said, “and I told him I had no need for it. So listen up-From what I've heard, your skill with the sword was unmatched. If you want to get back to that point it's not going to be easy, and it's not going to be fun either. But if you're going to give up before you've even started, then just walk away. Don't waste your time, and don't waste mine either.”

Jaime was both taken aback and slightly turned on by your demanding tone as you stood over him. He could tell you meant every word you said, and something told him that he could trust you. 

Your expression softened slightly as you sighed and sheathed your blade, staring at the uncertain man in front of you.

“You aren't a lost cause,” you said.

His heart pounded in his ears as he stared up at you, and that's when he realized: You weren't here to laugh at him like so many others had. You weren't here for gold or a shallow round in his bed. You were here to help him become the greatest fighter in Westeros once again. He knew what you said was true, this wasn't going to be easy or fun, but he was willing to work for it. You had lit a fire under his ass. 

He wordlessly reached down for the practice sword and took up a fighting stance, and you knew something had changed in him. 

“Alright then,” you grinned widely, readying your own weapon,

“Let's do this, Jaime Lannister.


	2. .:Confrontation:.

Over the next few weeks, you and Jaime had been meeting up almost every day to practice by the sea. You'd never admit it, but you began to look forward to your sessions. Jaime was a quick learner, and you could tell he was easing back into his old combat style. He held his weapon with much more confidence than before, and you were proud of his progress. 

Unbeknownst to you, Jaime looked forward to meeting you just as much. When he got his ass handed to him that first day, he felt a motivation in himself he hadn't felt since he got back to King's Landing. Losing his hand was more than just that, he felt his whole world crash down around him. The rest of his life, the rest of the blank page in the book of Knights of the Seven Kingdoms, seemed to turn to ash right in front of him. But you were the one who put him, quite literally, back on his feet. 

Countless times he'd wanted to give up and countless times you'd talked him out of it, and for that he was grateful. Few people had ever given him this sort of attention and genuine care unless it was for his looks, his title, or his gold. But you hadn't even known who he was when you first met, even refusing payment from his brother for helping him. 

The highs were high but the lows were just as low. On some days he felt like driving his blade through the next person who talked to him, wanting to throw his sword into the sea and curse the gods over and over again. Other days it felt like everything was coming back to him, the attacks and parrys he'd studied all his life feeling as natural as breathing. You moved with him like it was a dance, weaving over, under, and in between his steel, and he could tell your fighting style was foreign; You moved with such confidence and grace, and never used flourishes or gestures of grandeur needlessly.

“Showing off has killed more than one man,” you had told him. 

He chuckled to himself as he recalled your earlier words as he sat by the window of his room, cleaning his blade. It was strange, his thoughts began to drift to you even when he wasn't with you. . .

“Is something amusing?”

Jaime was snapped out of his thoughts as he turned to the source of the cold voice, his sister glancing at him over her shoulder as she dressed herself after last night's events. 

“Just thinking,” he responded, flashing her one of his winning smiles. 

Cersei crossed the room in a few confident strides and draped her arms around Jaime's shoulders. 

“Whatever about?” she asked. 

He turned to face her, resting his good hand on her hip. 

“You,” he lied, leaning in to capture her lips. She returned the gesture for a moment before pulling away, studying his face. 

“What is it?” Jaime asked. 

Cersei looked at him for a moment before forcing a small smile.

“Nothing.”

She turned away from him, sliding the top layer of her robes over her shoulders. 

As Jaime's gaze drifted back to the window he noticed how low the sun had gotten in the sky. Pressing a chaste kiss to Cersei's cheek, he grabbed his sword from where it was leaning against the wall.

“I have to leave,” he said as he headed for the door. 

“It seems you have to leave often these days,” Cersei commented, her tone pointed.

“It's nothing you have to worry about,” Jaime said as he turned around, lifting her chin to meet his eyes, “I'm learning to spar with my left hand so I can continue with the Kingsguard, nothing more.”

As she looked into his eyes she couldn't ignore the sparkle of anticipation that graced them, something that wasn't present when he laid with her- not anymore.

Jaime leaned forward to kiss her again but surprisingly felt himself pull away first. When his lips met hers it felt. . . empty. There was no way for him to explain it, it just didn't hold any emotion anymore, and Cersei knew it too. 

She stared at Jaime's back as he wordlessly left the room, his sword at his hip. As she watched him turn the corner at the end of the hall she called one of the Lannister squires in. 

“Find out where my brother is going,” Cersei ordered, her tone darkening, “And who he's going to meet.” 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sounds of clashing metal echoed off the sea front as you and Jaime sparred. You twisted around to parry his attack, swiftly delivering a counter which he blocked just as easily. He was becoming more and more confident, you could tell just by looking at him. 

He lunged at you, and you turned your head to the side, narrowly avoiding his steel.

“You're getting there,” you said, twisting your body around and using the momentum to deliver a crippling blow to his back, “But you still haven't landed a solid hit on me.”

Jaime grunted as he crumpled to his knees.

“A bit much, don't you think?” he groaned. 

“Oh please, it's hardly the worst blow you've taken,” you grinned, “But perhaps you've gotten soft- !!”

You gasped in surprise when Jaime grabbed his sword from the ground and spun around, striking you in the side. The act threw you off your balance, but right before you could hit the floor Jaime caught your hand with his own. 

You breathed heavily as he grinned down at you in triumph. It was the first time he'd caught you completely off guard- 

He'd landed a hit on you at last. 

“That was a dirty trick,” you scoffed, secretly proud of him. 

“People never fight fair,” Jaime countered, helping you up, “Now, I believe that warrants a question answered about you.”

You smiled slightly, he'd remembered your promise to him the first day of training, even if it was a joke then. 

“What do you want to know?”

“Where are you really from?” Jaime asked, “And 'not from around here' doesn't count.”

“Braavos,” you said. Jaime looked surprised at that.

“You don't really strike me as a banker,” he joked. 

“I was born into one of the core trading families,” you said. 

“Ah, so you were rich?” he rose a brow.

“We were well off,” you shrugged. 

“That's exactly what a rich person would say,” Jaime smirked, “Trust me, I'd know.” 

“Alright, fine,” you rolled your eyes, “Yes, we were a rich family.”

“Why did you leave?” he asked. 

You smirked as you kicked him in the chest, retrieving your sword as you rolled onto your shoulder to put some distance between you two. 

“Come and find out,” you smirked, twirling the handle of your sword around your wrist. 

Jaime did the same in his left hand, having gotten used to the feeling. This time you made the first move, faking an attack towards his sword hand before swinging your blade into his side. He grunted at the harsh contact- just because the training blades wouldn't break skin didn't mean they wouldn't bruise. 

He turned swiftly on his heels, knowing better than to let you out of his sight for too long. You were already prepared with another offensive maneuver, crossing the distance between you with a single step, pivoting on your left foot and kicking him in the shins with your right. As he lost his balance you moved to deliver the finishing blow, but he was unexpectedly quick. He bent backwards slightly, forcing his weight behind him to put himself in your blind spot. 

You grunted as his sword made contact with the back of your knee, forcing you to the floor. Before you could get back up, Jaime quickly moved to pin both of your hands to the ground with his left hand as he caught his breath from the match. 

His breath nearly left him as he looked down at you, your lips slightly parted as you panted beneath him and your hair sprawled out onto the cobblestone. A thin sheen of sweat covered your face, making your skin glow in a way that caused Jaime's mind to imagine this scenario under different circumstances. 

Your faces were so close he could your hot breath fan across his lips and he swallowed thickly. He nearly jolted as he suddenly felt your knee come up between his legs, your lips upturned mischievously. Jaime reeled back, his heart pounding in his ears. A smirk grew on your face as you promptly kicked him in the gut, shifting your weight to move on top of him and pressing the flat of your blade against his throat. 

Jaime looked up at you in disbelief as you straddled him, caught somewhere in between surprise and arousal. 

“Who's playing dirty now?” he scoffed, his face flushed. 

“You said it yourself,” you said, smirking down at him, “People never fight fair. Don't beat yourself up too much, I've yet to find a man that didn't fall for that trick.”

You got off him and offered him your hand, pulling him to his feet with surprising strength. 

“Although, you did land another good hit on me,” you admitted, “So to answer your earlier question, we were forced to leave Braavos. My parents were convicted of a crime they did not commit, the city was no longer safe for us.”

“So you don't have a Braavosi accent because-”

“My father brought me to Westeros when I was a baby,” you finished.

“Are you close with your father?”

You went silent at that, something that didn't go unnoticed by Jaime.

“He's dead,” you said quietly. 

Jaime didn't know how to respond to that, it took him by surprise.

“I'm. . . sorry,” he said, “I suppose it's something we have in common.”

You managed a smile at that, despite yourself, and Jaime found himself following. 

“Perhaps you're not quite the biting snake I thought you were when I saw you at that party,” he said, mischief gleaming in his eyes. 

“Well, I'm significantly nicer to people I tolerate,” you chuckled, “your little soldier friends didn't fit that category.”

“They aren't my friends,” Jaime said flatly.

“I thought the Kingsguard prided themselves on comraderie,” you said with a sly grin.

“We both know that's horse shit,” Jaime said, “And besides, you picked a good target. Grag deserved a good beating at the very least.”

“I didn't really pick my target, he tried to slip his hand under my dress,” you said pointedly. 

“Then he got what was coming to him,” Jaime said. 

The silence that followed between you two was a comfortable one, yet it was charged with something neither of you were willing to act on. In an attempt to diffuse whatever it was, Jaime decided on another question, albeit a rather stupid one. 

“So you tolerate me?” he grinned, thinking back to your earlier words. 

“Not answering” you said, standing up, “That was way too much information for just one hit.”

“Oh, come on, it's not very ladylike to tease,” Jaime said, smirking.

“It's one of my strong suits,” you said, looking at him over your shoulder, “Teasing, not being ladylike. You should know that by now.”

Jaime chuckled breathlessly, completely transfixed on you. The night breeze wove through your hair and clothes, making you look like some sort of princess straight out of a Dornish fairytale. How was it that you managed to be so effortlessly beautiful?

It was at that moment that you both seemed to notice how late it had gotten. The last few rays of light illuminated the horizon, reflecting off the water in a wash of orange and violet.

“I should get home,” you said, moving to grab your bag.

To your surprise, Jaime swooped it up from the ground before you could reach it, slinging it over his own shoulder.

“Come on, you don't really think I'm going to let you walk alone in the dark, do you?” he said, “Stay at the castle. No one would mind for just one night.” Without another word he began to walk in the direction of the massive castle he called home.

“W-wait a second,” you called out, jogging to catch up to him, “I can get home by myself just fine, you've seen me fight.”

“Yes I have, and you're remarkably good,” he said. 

Your face flushed at his unexpected compliment.

“But if it comes down to you and six slave traders, I'm afraid there's power in numbers,” he continued, “And besides, I have all your things,” he finished, waving your bag in front of you and snatching it away as you tried to grab it. 

“Is this just an excuse to take me back to your quarters?” you huffed, begrudgingly following him back to the Red Keep. 

“I live in a castle the size of a small village,” he exaggerated, “You wouldn't come within five feet of my quarters unless you wanted to.” 

His suggestive tone of voice towards the end effectively shut you up, and you followed him through the city.

The castle was huge, that much was obvious. It towered over King's Landing in an exceedingly unnecessary way. You could see the top of the highest tower even from the slums of Fleabottom. However, you hadn't realized quite how large it was until you found yourself in front of its massive iron doors. They towered over you four times over, and that was just the lower level. 

Even as you followed Jaime up the countless stone steps to the bedrooms you felt massively out of place passing tables topped with crystal candle holders and gold cutlery. 

You nearly crashed into Jaime's back, not realizing he'd stopped in front of one of the many doors in the hallway. 

“Hopefully this is comfortable enough,” he said, opening the door to the guest room to let you step inside. 

Your eyes widened as you took in the room. Grand was an understatement. It was more luxurious than anywhere you'd dare stay. The bed was big enough for three or four people, lined with silk sheets and down feather pillows with gold embroidery. Satin weaved around the banisters down to the floor. The maroon color of the fabric matched the drapes that lead out onto a balcony where you could see all of King's Landing, the flames in the street side lanterns looking like little specs from the top of the Red Keep. Did he say this was just a guest room?!

“It's. . . wonderful. Really, thank you,” you said, “You know, you didn't have to do all this.”

“Please, this is more than I owe you,” Jaime insisted. 

You turned around to refuse again only to find him a lot closer to you than you anticipated. 

You felt your cheeks heat up and you thanked the gods for the dim lighting. 

When your eyes did meet his you found yourself completely captivated by them. There was something in his gaze that you didn't recognize, you'd never seen him like this before. For a second his gaze drifted to your lips which you subconsciously bit out of nervousness. 

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

“You should. . . get some sleep,” he said, forcing himself to move away from you before he did something that would most likely make you hate him.

“Yeah,” you said with just as much reluctance. 

Before he left, Jaime stalled in the doorway for a moment longer to look at you. 

“Thank you, (Y/n). For everything.”

The words he wanted to say after that got caught in his throat, and he decidedly shut his mouth before gently closing the door behind him.

As he began to leave you heard his movements stall for a moment, and you felt your heart rate speed up until you heard his footsteps finally fade away. 

You exhaled a shaky breath you didn't know you were holding and pressed your hands to your face in an effort to cool your cheeks. 

What the hell were you thinking?! This was Jaime fucking Lannister you were talking about here, he's probably laid with every other woman in the Seven Kingdoms, and according to the rumors his sister wasn't excluded from that list. 

You cursed your own stupidity as your thoughts drifted back to him- the way he looked at you, thanked you. Somehow just being with him made you happier. More than that, you wanted to ease his struggles and celebrate his victories; You wanted to see him succeed. You didn't even know when or how it happened, but just like everyone else you'd fallen for Jaime Lannister, no matter how much you didn't want to admit it. . .

You were snapped out of your thoughts as you heard three sharp knocks on the door. Confused as to who would be here this late, you opened it with caution. When you saw who was on the other side, however, your eyes widened.

“Queen Cersei,” you addressed her, quickly curtsying, “Thank you for allowing me to stay here tonight.”

“There's no need for such formalities,” Cersei said with a tight lipped smile, “I won't even be addressed as Queen for much longer.” She stepped inside and motioned for the guards behind her to stay outside the door as she closed it.

You took a moment to study her. Tales of her beauty certainly hadn't been exaggerated. She had the same beautiful golden hair and green eyes as Jaime, and the aura she carried into the room was equal parts alluring and terrifying. 

“Pardon me, but what can I do for you, Your Grace?” you asked.

“I do apologize for the late hour,” she said, her hands folded regally in front of her, “I just wanted to stop by and thank you.”

Your blood ran cold as her tone shifted noticeably. She stared you down, those green eyes boring into your own as she stepped closer to you. 

“For what, Your Grace?” you asked, your defenses heightening. 

“I want to thank you for helping Jaime train and recover,” she said, a fake smile plastered on her perfect features, “He's doing much better now.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” you said, “He's made a lot of progress-”

“Much better,” she emphasized, cutting you off, “He's doing so much better, in fact, that I think it's safe to say he no longer has use for you.”

You felt your words die in your throat as you processed what she just said. She seemed pleased with your shocked state. 

“What, no smart retort?” she smiled, “I thought you always knew what to say. Please, allow me to offer you some advice.”

She gripped your wrist tightly as she spoke, hard enough to make you wince. 

“I would highly suggest that you leave this place,” she said, her voice deathly calm, “and I don't just mean this castle. Gather your things from whatever decrepit little hovel you reside in and leave King's Landing. Be out of this bedroom by sunrise, out of this city by nightfall, and on a boat back to whatever savage slave hub in Essos you were born in by the day after, and stay there. God forbid something should happen to you if you don't.”

You were frozen in place as she spat out those last words with poison on her tongue. It was clear this wasn't a suggestion at all. She let go of your wrist and turned on her heels with grace.

“Oh, and by the way,” she smiled sinisterly as she turned to look at you over her shoulder, “Speak to him again, and you'll be able to admire the best view King's Landing has to offer- when your head is on a spike above the Red Keep.”

Her words made your stomach churn, and Cersei shot you one last withering look before opening the door and striding down the hall without so much as a second glance at you, her guards following suit. 

She reveled in the memory of your shocked and scared expression as she made her way back to her chambers, the small smirk on her face growing while she did.

She had won this round.


	3. .:Carte Blanch:.

You stood there as if glued to the floor, staring at the empty doorway long after Cersei had gone. You didn't even know what to feel. Fear was fairly dominant in your system, but the rage that bubbled in your stomach was unmistakable. The way she talked to you infuriated you. She belittled you with such enjoyment in her eyes, slandering you, your home country. How dare she? Just because she was born luckier than you, just because she happened to be a child to a good family in the right place at the right time. But then again, she was the Queen. Her word was law, or so it was for the moment. She could have you killed with a flick of her wrist, and after tonight you had no doubt she would do so if she found you here in the morning.

On top of all that, one thing was confirmed- the rumors about her and Jaime were true. 

There was nothing else that could have been about. You felt a twist in your chest as you thought about it and you cursed yourself for it. You had no business with these people. Jaime wasn't supposed to mean anything to you; you hated that he did. 

You glanced around the room and grimaced. You knew you Cersei meant what she said, you had to leave, and the sooner you did the better.

You started to slip on the various layers of your clothes, folding your cloak over the top to create a makeshift hood. You strapped your sword to your hip and grabbed your things, prepared to head home and then to the docks.

Knowing you wouldn't be able to force yourself to leave if you stayed a moment longer, you stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind you. You traveled down the stone steps to the first floor, about to make your way to the front door when you passed the dining room. A bowl of fresh fruit sat on the table, a half loaf of bread next to it along with a block of cheese, abandoned. A silver pitcher completed the array, no doubt filled with wine. 

You chuckled humorlessly to yourself. If you were being forced to leave, then. . .

You walked over to the table, grabbing one of the gauntlets from the place seatings and filling it nearly to the brim with wine. You drank it like it was water, pausing only for a second before finishing it, slamming the cup down on the table, and swiping the food into your bag. You moved to refill your cup again when a voice spoke in the darkness. 

“Didn't take you for the type.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, drawing your weapon on instinct and whipping around to raise it to the voice's source, only to be met with the sight of Tyrion Lannister, drunk off his ass and lounging on one of the large chairs with his feet up. 

“How long have you been there?” you asked in a hushed tone. 

“Oh, only the entire time,” he replied nonchalantly, swirling the wine in his glass and nearly spilling it every time the cup rotated in his hand, “Did you think a ghost was dining on cheese and bread at this hour?” 

“So are you going to rat me out for stealing from your family or what?” you glared, not lowering your sword an inch.

“You're our guest,” Tyrion said, “Which gives you the right to our food and drink. There was no crime that I could see. Besides, by the looks of the way you downed that wine it appears you needed it.”

“Your _guest?_ ” you nearly laughed, “Well, you certainly have a funny way of showing your hospitality.”

“I assume you've met my sister, then,” Tyrion sighed, taking another healthy swig from his goblet.

“She's charming,” you remarked dryly, “and basically told me to get the fuck out of here by morning or she'll have me killed.”

Tyrion seemed surprised at that, sobering up at your words. 

“Did she now. . .” he trailed off. He knew exactly why she didn't like you, but he didn't think she'd go this far. Well, in hindsight perhaps he should have seen it coming. It was Cersei, after all.

“I should go,” you said, “I'll be able to sleep at home and pack my things, but according to our great queen I have to leave King's Landing by tomorrow night.”

“How are you going to manage that?” Tyrion asked, genuinely curious.

“I saw a trade ship docked at the bay with a Braavosi flag,” you said, your expression hardening, “I'll have no trouble sneaking on. My family still has a few allies there. I could teach sword fighting if it comes down to it.”

You grimaced slightly despite yourself. It's true you knew people who would let you stay with them in Braavos, but there was a reason you haven't returned to your homeland since you left. . .

“You could just go somewhere else in Westeros,” Tyrion said, reading your anxious expression.

“No,” you said firmly, “If I didn't leave here she'd know. She'd put a price on my head and knight whoever gives it to her in a sack.”

“She said that?” Tyrion quirked a brow.

“Actually she wanted my head on a pike above the Keep, if I remember correctly,” you said, “I was just passing through here anyways. I hadn't meant to stay as long as I already have. . .”

You trailed off as the realization that you had to leave everything behind once again hit you hard. You were always running, always moving. Why should this time feel any different? 

You felt a pang in your chest as Jaime's face flashed through your mind. This is why you promised to not make any connections on your travels. You always have to end up leaving them anyways. You'd never had a home, not a permanent one anyways. You knew you shouldn't have gotten comfortable. 

Tyrion seemed to read your thoughts, but to him they were written all over your face. He saw the way Jaime looked at you when Cersei wasn't around, when he thought you weren't looking. There was something beginning to be restored in his brother that hadn't been there since he returned. He was so much more. . . human- Humble, alive, and happy to be so.

“I should go,” you said, breaking the silence. You took your bag off the table and slung it over your shoulder. As you turned to leave you stopped in front of the door, looking back at the Lannister.

“Farewell, Tyrion,” you said with sincerity, “Thank you for giving me an opportunity and for treating me kindly.”

He smiled at that.

“You have a good head on your shoulders, (Y/n). Try not to get it cut off.” 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Jaime listened to the waves crashing beneath the plateau as he sat in the clearing. He tried to relax but he couldn't shake the bad feeling nagging at the back of his mind. You had never been late, not once. Every time he'd been even close to late to one of your sessions you never let him hear the end of it. 

“If you're right on time, you're late,” you had told him, not giving him any time to react before lunging at him with a surprise attack, your sword already drawn. He smiled despite himself at the memory but it did nothing to quell his concern. 

His head snapped up at the sound of footsteps, hoping to see you, your sword at your hip, apologizing for being late so he could tease you about all the times you'd nagged him. Instead, he saw his brother walking towards him, an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. Jaime knew something was wrong. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. 

“Just admiring the view,” Tyrion said, “You can see the entire span of the docks from up here. You might want to take a walk there later.”

Jaime gave him a strange look.

“Tyrion, what's going on?” he asked, his tone serious.

Tyrion's face seemed to shift before he smiled up at him, extending his arms.

“Give your brother a hug, would you?”

“ _What?_ ” Jaime recoiled.

“Give me a hug,” Tyrion said through his teeth, “Hurry.”

Jaime awkwardly embraced his brother, about to pull away when Tyrion spoke in a hushed tone. 

“Don't have any reaction to what I'm about to say,” he said lowly, looking over his shoulder before continuing, “Cersei threatened (Y/n)'s life. Westeros isn't safe for her anymore.”

Jaime felt his blood run cold, his arms numb as he felt his jaw go slack. 

“Now you listen to me,” Tyrion continued, “you have until nightfall to tell that girl how you feel before she boards a Braavos bound ship and disappears forever. You only meet a woman like that once in a lifetime, don't waste your chance. There's eyes and ears everywhere, be careful.”

Tyrion pulled away, looking his brother in the eyes.

“Got it?”

Jaime didn't have to be told twice. The mere thought of you being in danger made his chest ache, and his body seemed to run on autopilot as ran towards the stone ramp to the docks. 

He didn't care about the strange glances he received as he sprinted across the viewpoint, turning the corner quickly as he approached the main gates of the Keep. As he did he nearly ran into someone and they put their hands on his shoulders to steady him. 

“What's the matter?” 

As Jaime looked up he met the eyes of his sister, mock concern spread across her features. 

“I don't have time for this, Cersei,” he huffed, trying to restrain himself. He was absolutely livid that she threatened you and moved to push past her, but she caught his arm before he could leave, spinning him around. 

“Jaime, what's gotten into you? You're not feeling well, I'm sure. You need to rest or you'll-”

“Cersei, move,” he growled.

“Jaime, my love-”

“NOW!”

Cersei recoiled in shock, Jaime rarely ever raised his voice at her, but he paid her no mind as he shoved his way past and continued to run towards the docks before it was too late-

Before you were gone for good. 

Cersei grit her teeth hard as she watched her brother run off, her jaw taught and a bitter taste in her mouth. 

“Guards!” she called out, a group of armored Kingsguards at her side in an instant, “That girl with the sword, (Y/n). . . I've changed my mind. Find her immediately, and kill her.”

The knights glanced at each other hesitantly and Cersei snapped. 

“Did I stutter?! I am your Queen, I gave you an order, and I expect you to deliver now!”

The guards nodded in tentative affirmation before taking off after Jaime. Cersei watched them disappear into the crowd of the dock's market before turning on her heels and walking back to the Red Keep, still steaming.

She wanted you dead, and Cersei Lannister always got what she wanted. 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You sighed as you dragged another armful of your belongings out into the alleyway between your house and the tavern. You didn't own much since you were always on the move, just a small collection of essentials and things you'd picked up along your travels. You struggled to fit everything into the two large bags you usually carried, your eyes drifting to the dock every so often to make sure the ship you planned to sneak onto wasn't setting sail early. 

As you returned your attention to packing your things, the hair on the back of your neck stood up as you heard rapidly approaching footsteps behind you. Your other bag as well as your sword were still inside your house, and you tried to calm your heart rate as you quickly turned around to face the source of the noise.

Your eyes widened as you saw Jaime running towards you, out of breath and in the casual clothes he usually wore for training instead of his armor. His brow was furrowed in concentration that quickly turned into relief as you made eye contact. He skid to a stop in front of you and you took an instinctive step back.

“You can't be here,” you said, your eyes darting around you to make sure no one saw you two talking. 

“(Y/n), wait, just listen to me-”

“Stay back,” you said, trying to fight the waver in your voice, “It's not safe, you're not safe.”

Jaime put his hands up, staying where he was. 

“(Y/n), please, I just need to talk to you,” he said. 

“I can't,” you said, “I. . . I can't tell you why, but I'm not supposed to-”

“I know about Cersei,” he said, disappointed in himself for not protecting you from her. He knew what kind of person she truly was, he was just too blinded by love to see or care.

“Then you know I have to leave,” you said, forcing your emotions down and refusing to let them surface, “There's a ship that'll take me back to Braavos, if I'm not on it by sundown. . .”

“You can't leave,” Jaime said adamantly.

“I don't want to, but I don't have a choice. Just go,” you pleaded.

Your eyes widened as Jaime suddenly drew his sword, making you take another step back.

“Jaime?”

“Get back!” he called out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you behind him just in time to block the incoming attack from the Kingsguard that was sneaking up on you. 

“Stand down,” Jaime ordered the man.

“I take my orders from the Queen,” he scoffed, lifting his helmet to reveal Grag, the knight you had fought at the royal banquet, “And besides, this is my rightful payback!”

Without warning he lunged forward, his sword outstretched. Jaime moved fast, pushing you to the side and parrying Grag's attack.

“Where's your sword?” Jaime asked you. 

“Still in the house,” you said, your eyes never leaving the knight.

“Get inside,” Jaime said. 

“Not a chance,” you protested, “This is my fight, he wants me, you shouldn't get involved!”

“Listen to your little whore, Lannister,” Grag smirked, “If you're good I'll yet you watch her die.”

Jaime's jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth would shatter, bringing his sword down on top of the knight with a great yell. Grag grunted as Jaime's sword made contact with his armored shoulder, narrowly missing his neck. Grag swung at Jaime, hitting the Lannister in the face with the hilt of his sword. Jaime recoiled as the impact broke the skin on his face, blood spilling over his cheek. 

Grag grabbed Jaime by the shirt and struck him across the face again, the hard metal of his gauntlet slicing into the skin of Jaime's face once again. Grinning at the sight of his handiwork, Grag lifted Jaime's body by his shoulders and slammed the back of his head into the stone wall of the alley. 

“Jaime!” you cried out, moving to run to him only to have your path blocked by Grag's sword.

“I told you him I'd let him watch, remember?” Grag sneered as he turned to you, “Perhaps I can get a few good uses out of you before I have to cut your head off.”

Your heart pounded in your ears as you felt the small dagger in your sleeve slip into your hand. Your grip on the handle tightened as Grag advanced on you. 

“Scream as loud as you want, whore,” he smirked, “no one will hear you.” 

Just as you were about to attack him, a gargled shout rang out into the alleyway. You instinctively shut your eyes as you felt a warm liquid splatter onto your face. When you opened them again Grag had his mouth open in shock, his eyes just as wide. 

The blade of Jaime's sword was coming out the front of Grag's throat, every movement he made caused a fresh river of blood to pour from the wound. He gargled and choked before Jaime removed the blade, causing the knight to crumple to the floor in a pathetic heap. 

Jaime looked down at the man with distaste before plunging his sword into the side of his head. The choking sounds ceased, as did any signs of movement from Grag.

“What the hell did you do?” you said, horrified, but not for the knight's death, “Why would you step in like that? He wanted to kill _me_ , you shouldn't have-”

“I'm sorry, I just got the pulp beaten out of me to save you,” Jaime said with incredulous sarcasm, “My face is my most valuable asset, a 'thank you' would be appreciated.”

You didn't know whether you wanted to thank him or hit him- his tongue was just as sharp even in a situation like this.

“Jaime, he took his orders from Cersei,” you struggled to explain, “You're the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, you could be killed for treason for this.”

“I don't care,” he insisted, exhaling sharply before looking you in the eyes. 

“Come with me,” he said, a pleading in his voice that surprised even him.

You attempted to stifle the bitter laugh that escaped your lips. 

“Where?”

“Away,” he said, “Away from King's Landing, somewhere you'll be safe.”

“I'm not safe anywhere,” you quietly admitted. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm cursed Jaime,” you said, a tremor sneaking into your voice, “My mother and father were murdered by men with no faces and no names, and no matter where I go they always find me. People who get too close to me always end up dead, it's why I can never stay in one place for long. And now with Cersei after me. . . so long as you're with me you'll never be safe, don't you understand that?”

“I don't care,” he insisted again, taking your hands in his.

“Well you should!” you shouted, pushing him away, “you should care, because I'd never be able to forgive myself if you died because of me!” 

His expression softened as tears of frustration began to well up in your eyes. 

“It'll take more than a couple of faceless men to kill me,” he said softly.

“You don't know what they're capable of,” you said, shaking your head.

“And they've never met me,” he countered. 

Your heart swelled at his persistence, but you couldn't help the feeling gnawing at the pit of your stomach. 

“But, Cersei-”

“Is a ruthless woman,” Jaime stopped you, “full of hate and spite for everyone but her children.”

“ _Your_ children,” you said, your voice breaking, “It's true, isn't it? You love her.”

Your broken expression made Jaime's heart lurch painfully, but he told you the truth.

“I thought I did,” he said, “But everything is different now. . . Cersei and I used to say that we were the only two people in the world. No one else mattered. But now I see that Cersei's world really only includes herself. When I'm with her it's like I don't feel. . . anything, anymore. Not like when I'm with you.”

You searched his eyes for any trace of lie or doubt but found none. As the realization hit you, a smile crept onto your face as much as you tried to fight it. 

“Jaime Lannister, you are the most ridiculous man I've ever met,” you laughed lightly. 

He couldn't help but join in, your laughter a sound he wanted to forge into his memory. 

“(Y/n). . . I've made more mistakes in my life than I can count,” he said, the most honest and sincere you'd ever seen him, “I was arrogant and naive and I thought I was invincible. I didn't think I'd ever need someone else. But now I can see just how wrong I was. I promise, no harm will ever come to you as long as I'm here. Fuck whatever Gods are out there, I swear this to you. From this day until-”

You took him by surprise as you threaded your fingers through his golden hair, effectively cutting him off by pressing your lips to his. After recovering from his initial shock, his good hand instinctively went to your waist, pulling you closer to him as he deepened the kiss. It was as if all the pent up feelings were coming to light, and neither of you could get enough of it. After what seemed like eternity and a fraction of a second at the same time, you slowly pulled away from each other.

“For a pretty boy you sure do talk a lot,” you smiled weakly. 

A grin spread across Jaime's features.

“Well, feel free to shut me up any time,” he chuckled.

You smiled and shook your head, gently brushing your thumb across his bloodied cheek.

“It's going to be dangerous,” you said, still wary of what challenges you were sure to face if you were going to be together. 

“Well, I have the best fighter in all of Braavos to protect me, now don't I?” Jaime grinned. His grin only widened at your reaction.

You looked at him with disbelief but felt your heart soar. 

“How the fuck is this going to work?” you chuckled breathlessly. 

He moved to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear as he looked at you with an expression that made you melt.

“It just will,” he assured you. 

And for some inexplicable reason, you felt there was truth to his words. 

You couldn't help but smile and lean in to capture his lips once again, and even if for just a moment, the whole world ceased to exist around you- Cersei, the war, the faceless men, the Gods old and new. 

It wasn't going to be easy, but so long as you and Jaime had each other, you had a fighting chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Carte Blanch [n] : complete freedom to act as one wishes_
> 
> Thank you for reading this little fic! This is my first Game of Thrones work, so hopefully the characters weren't too OOC. More quarantine writing is in the works, thanks again, dear reader~


End file.
